


Creating two minds from one

by Neurocrat



Category: Mr. Robot (TV)
Genre: Ambiguous sexuality, Anal Sex, Bondage, Dissociative Identity Disorder, Dom/sub, Frustrated Tyrell, Gunplay, Implied/Referenced Abuse, Jealous Angela, M/M, Masturbation, Memory Loss, Oral Sex, Past Abuse, Spanking, Unrequited Angela/Elliot, personality change
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-02
Updated: 2017-04-10
Packaged: 2018-08-28 16:09:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 20,996
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8452987
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Neurocrat/pseuds/Neurocrat
Summary: Prior to the events of the show, Angela has been tasked with helping (non-dissociated) Elliot figure out how to dissociate himself into two identities for the sake of their long-term objective. Tyrell and Elliot are already involved; Angela has more thoughts on this than she’s willing to admit. Quick break for smut (OK not so quick). Next, we see Angela reacting to the “new” Elliot post-split (events of s1). The new identity Elliot created does not know Tyrell – will they start over, or does this new Elliot have different interests for the time being?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> 1 – Spoilers, obvs… Esp. s1. Probably best if you’ve watched both seasons thus far.  
> 2 - If you just want the sex part, skip to the second chapter! (*Or chapter 6, or 7...)  
> 3 - Playing around here with one of my pet theories for the show, which is that Elliot’s identity dissociation was done deliberately – possibly by himself, possibly by others, possibly by Angela, Tyrell and him together (the key-holders). And that happened pretty recently before the start of s1 -- there are many hints that our narrator Elliot has only existed for a short period of time.
> 
> Hope you enjoy!

Angela had been poring over scientific articles in obscure psychiatry journals all weekend. Some of the information she needed, she had to go into old archives in the library, outdated shit from the 1960s, because no modern scientists even talk about this stuff anymore. The deliberate dissociation of identities. She read about early experiments with LSD, mescaline, combinations of drugs with hypnosis, and some of the disastrous results in case studies. She also read modern articles on dissociative identity disorder, its etiology and treatment.

She knew that Elliot had already been experimenting on himself. 

She was in his apartment now, sitting on the floor. It was Sunday afternoon. She picked up the joint from the dirty ashtray next to her, took a pull off of it, and turned the page of an old volume of the Journal of American Psychiatry, trying to read between the lines of the old-fashioned terminology and the disregard for patient subjectivity that was even more pronounced back then. Elliot had been on the computer much of the day, of course, doing who knows what. Whether he was even working on the same thing she was, she couldn’t say. He mentioned earlier, in passing, that he had figured out how to get some LSD from a research lab. Angela didn’t ask any questions.

She sighed and closed the journal. “I think this is just too dangerous, Elliot.” 

He seemed pretty absorbed in what he was doing. An array of webpages and coding windows up on his screen. He didn’t turn, and at first she was not sure he even heard her, but after a couple of beats he calmly replied, never looking away from the screen: “No, it’s not.”

Angela sighed. “Look, I’ve been reading a lot about it. Yes, it sounds like you can bring on D.I.D. yourself, at least some people have done it, but there’s no controlling it – how do you expect to get the characteristics you want in the one personality, and the other ones in the other? How can you even decide how many personalities you would get in the end? I feel like, you can set this into motion, and that’s it, you won’t be able to control where it goes.”

“Define ‘too dangerous,’” Elliot muttered.

“Define-? Yeah. That’s what I’m trying to do.” She was a bit irritated with him. “All the up-to-date research on treatment - there really isn’t much treatment. These are the scholars who’ve been studying this for, like, their whole careers, and it’s like they’re groping around in the dark, Elliot. Sometimes they help someone a little bit. Sometimes they cure someone. When asked why, they just sort of speculate. They don’t know how to cure it, Elliot. It’s a really serious disorder.”

“Of course they don’t know how to cure it. They’re just psychiatrists,” said Elliot with casual disdain. His phone buzzed; he took it out and glanced at it.

“Alright, be real here. Yeah some of them are idiots, but they have trained in this field, studied this their whole lives – you and I don’t have medical degrees, we’re –“

“’Too dangerous’ for what? ‘Too dangerous’ for who?” He finally turned toward her, pushing his chair away from his computer. Angela blinked at him. “We’re talking about saving the world. What’s too dangerous to try to better the lives of an entire world of people, and bring justice to the few that have been oppressing them? What about your mom and my dad, Angela?” 

Angela looked down, silent. She was 100% on board with the mission. At least, she thought she was. The potential costs of this move, though, were just too much for her to contemplate. She cared about him so much, more than he even knew. Elliot continued: “To separate out my skillset, to isolate my knowledge… This is the way to do that. I try to do this right now, with one unified … me - you know what will happen. Everything will be traceable, they can get to me and find out everything… Plus, I honestly don’t know if I can pull it off the way I am right now. I need to focus, condense that part of me. And remember. We need the prophet to be separate from the god.”

He scared her a little when he talked this way, but she knew it was just a metaphor. Right? All that “prophet” and “god” stuff just meant they needed a project manager, a team leader who’s separate from the engineer. He needed the passion separate from the genius. He also needed deniability, a muddying up of the tracks. She couldn’t argue with his logic, which he had been over with her a dozen times. Also, he had a way of putting his arguments, no matter how insane they sounded, that she just did not have the will to counter. Each time he looked at her and said what he thinks, spun out his plans, she felt a little cowed. She wasn’t proud of it. She wished she could stand up to him. She knew, too, that she would be able to if he pulled off the identity split. That was part of the point. She and Tyrell would be able to handle him, move him around like a chess piece, once he had created Elliot-prime. All the knowledge, all the power distributed, harder to trace, harder for outside influences to control. 

She could not win this one. She knew she shouldn’t let her feelings get in the way. This was not a time to be protective.

“I know,” she said quietly, opening the journal volume back up again.

She heard Elliot shutting down the computer and looked up in surprise. He slung his backpack over his shoulder and picked up his keys.

“Where are you going?”

“Out,” Elliot replied, over his shoulder, walking toward the door. 

“Wait, Elliot –“ he half-turned in the doorway, looked at her. “I’ll be back later tonight,” he said. Maybe feeling a little empathy then, because he smiled a little at her and added, “Don’t worry.” And he was gone.

Angela shut the psychiatry journal and took a long hit off the joint, leaning back against the wall. She knew exactly where he was going. He had just seen Tyrell last night, didn’t answer any of her texts until early this morning. He would never call Tyrell his boyfriend, of course, but that’s what he was, as far as Angela was concerned. They were supposed to be working as a team, but they rarely were all three in the same place anymore. Tyrell’s face burned with resentment whenever Angela was near Elliot, and why? Angela and Elliot’s relationship was close, so close, but purely platonic, always had been. Elliot had never shown any of that kind of interest in her. But Angela had known Elliot since they were small, and their mutual bond and pact in avenging their respective parents went back far before Elliot was old enough to start formulating a real plan. Way before Tyrell became involved. 

Tyrell had his body, sure, but Angela had his soul. Or that is what she told herself. 

Anyway, Elliot was probably keeping them separated on purpose. More compartmentalization. More safety. Daemons working on their separate tasks in parallel.

Did Tyrell even know about Elliot plans to dissociate his identity? Or was that part of the plan just Angela’s domain?


	2. Chapter 2

Elliot walked briskly down the hall of the hotel, his feet quiet on the thick carpet. He was annoyed that Tyrell had picked a hotel that it took him a train ride and a bit of a walk to get to, when there were hotels within blocks of Elliot’s apartment. Of course, seedy ones, though. Tyrell couldn’t stand the sight of a carpet stain or a cockroach.

He arrived at the room number Tyrell had texted him. He could have knocked, but he felt like showing off. He took a small screwdriver and a credit card out of his pocket, knelt in front of the lock, and got the door open in seconds.

Tyrell was standing there in the doorway already, looking down at him with a smirk, and Elliot quickly got up off his knee, a little pissed at himself for not thinking that one through. “So you did get my text,” Tyrell said in his soft accent, ushering him in and shutting the door. He immediately pushed Elliot up against the other side of the door with his body, his face an inch away, sliding his right hand into the opening of Elliot’s half-zipped hoodie and along his collarbone. “You didn’t answer - I was worried.”

Elliot kept his face blank and shouldered Tyrell aside to enter the room and toss his backpack onto the office chair. Everyone worried about him all the time. He supposed that would come in handy later on. “I was busy.”

“Not too busy to come here to see me,” Tyrell said, watching him. Elliot didn’t answer. He sat down on the edge of the bed nonchalantly, like someone tired after traveling who plans to flip on the hotel room TV and order room service, barely looking at Tyrell. He knew it drove Tyrell crazy when Elliot acted like this. Usually people noticed Tyrell, fawned over Tyrell. People groveled for attention from Tyrell, at least men did. Elliot didn’t have to do any of that.

Elliot decided to be even more of a fucker: he ostentatiously yawned a little, actually looked around and found the TV remote on the bed to the side of him, looked at it like he was going to pick it up. And then flicked his eyes up at Tyrell, finally.

That was all Tyrell needed. He got over to the bed in a couple of strides, unbuttoning the first two buttons of his silk shirt on the way. He knelt on the bed straddling Elliot, grabbed his head in both his hands and kissed him hard, pushing his tongue into Elliot’s mouth. He was bending Elliot’s neck back at an uncomfortable angle, and he probably knew that and didn’t care. _That’s what I get for ignoring him,_ Elliot thought. For not wanting Tyrell as desperately as Tyrell wanted Elliot. Or, at least, pretending not to.

Elliot’s aloof act fell away a little; he couldn’t stay passive. In actuality, Tyrell gave him a drug-like rush. He admitted this to no one. He kissed back, moved forward towards Tyrell to not be bent back so far. He reached forward to continue unbuttoning Tyrell’s shirt. When it was fully unbuttoned, Elliot moved his hands up his chest, keeping it slow and tentative, keeping control of himself. Tyrell breathed heavily, unlatching from Elliot’s face to tilt his head back. Elliot took that opportunity to lean forward, kiss from Tyrell’s collarbone up his neck, slowly, with deliberation. 

Tyrell made a growl sort of noise and pushed Elliot roughly back on the bed. Elliot smiled. This was the game: Make Tyrell lose control. 

When things first happened with Tyrell (Elliot did not explicitly name their activities in his head), Elliot had not had much experience being in control of his own sex life, paying attention to his own wants. Most of his sexual experiences had been things that were basically done to him. Some by girls or women, some by boys or men. Some were vaguely pleasant; some were forceful, humiliating, and completely unwanted. Some of the worse experiences, Elliot hardly remembered, having a knack for detaching his consciousness when needed during any kind of violence being done to his body, sexual or otherwise. Some other Elliot did what needed to be done with the body, whether that required curling up and guarding his head when being kicked on the ground, or whether that required obediently sucking what was presented to his mouth. And this Elliot, Elliot’s mind, went on a trip somewhere. He could even dictate the nature of these trips. Usually.

(This is part of why Elliot was confident in his plan to dissociate his personality. He already had a lot of practice. There was so much he could do with this ability, just another in his toolkit. He was impatient with how Angela treated it as any more special or dangerous than any other hacking technique.)

Somehow, something had developed organically with Tyrell that was a new thing for Elliot, a push-and-pull in which he had agency, where his desires dictated what went on. He was in touch with his own lust in a way he never had been before. Used to be, his cock would betray him, getting hard for someone who disgusted him, who was using or hurting him. Just another process run amok in his body. It was all different with Tyrell, who knew himself, who was not some stupid teenager or filthy old man taking advantage. Tyrell knew his own sexuality, stated it plainly for Elliot. He described to Elliot exactly what it was about Elliot that turned him on. He offered himself to Elliot. 

Elliot was so awkward and stiff that first time, fighting with the urge to flee, either bodily or mentally. But Tyrell was patient and showed him what to do. Elliot’s uncertainty and hesitation only seemed to turn Tyrell on more. By now, they had fucked more times than Elliot could count, and he was not so shy anymore, but he still used those careful, deliberate movements, as if he wasn’t quite sure what to do next, specifically to drive Tyrell out of his mind. It worked every time.

Tyrell laid on top of Elliot, holding him down by the shoulders, and ground his pelvis into Elliot’s. Kissing him fiercely, he pulled at the zipper of his hoodie too fast and carelessly, and it stuck twice before zipping downward. Elliot did nothing to help, but he did reach around to grab one cheek of Tyrell’s round, muscular ass through his thin dress pants, making the man on top of him groan loudly. Elliot was careful to not make any sounds, but he couldn’t control his breathing which had sped up against his wishes. He could feel his fast pulse twitching his hard-on. Tyrell was trying to get up his shirt but was impeded by all the clothing; he needed Elliot’s cooperation to get his hoodie and shirt fully off, and Elliot was pretending like it wasn’t going on at all, concentrating on sucking Tyrell’s face and squeezing his ass. 

So Tyrell detached from Elliot’s mouth, looked him in the eye, and undid his jeans. “Other men, they strip naked and present their assholes to me like trained animals,” Tyrell murmured to Elliot, stroking the strip of black hair that ran down from Elliot’s navel, following it into his boxers. “You’re just… Incorrigible. Like a wild thing.” 

Elliot kept the eye contact, tried to keep his face calm as Tyrell’s hand gripped tight around his cock. _That’s because I own you,_ he thought. Tyrell was brilliant, rich, successful; larger, stronger than Elliot, much more sexually experienced; infinitely more powerful in society. But Elliot had still made him his bitch.

Tyrell proved it by taking Elliot’s erection out of his shorts, bowing his head and plunging it deep into his mouth. Elliot took a sharp intake of breath, his head falling back on the bed for a second of its own accord before he willed it to lift again to watch through half-shut eyes. Elliot knew with Tyrell’s other lovers, it was them doing the sucking off. But Tyrell couldn’t resist Elliot’s cock.

Tyrell was very good at this, Elliot had enough experience to know that. His jaws worked strenuously, his strong tongue slipping over and over the frenulum. It felt so good Elliot still couldn’t believe it, and his blood rushed at the sight and feel and concept of this powerful man putting so much effort into pleasuring him. Also, it was clear he was trying to make Elliot come as quickly and hard as possible, but Elliot and Tyrell had fucked all night the previous night; Elliot was recently satiated and ready to hold out for twenty, thirty minutes. Elliot had all day. When he really wanted to fuck with Tyrell, he could even drift out a little, detach a little, staying in enough to stay hard but out enough to keep from coming, virtually forever. 

However, Tyrell wasn’t having that today. He must have known it was going to take a little extra to push Elliot over the edge now, because he used his hands to yank Elliot’s black jeans and gray boxers down by the waistband, pulled them until they were down around Elliot’s knees. Elliot didn’t fully realize what was coming next until one of Tyrell’s fingers was in his mouth alongside Elliot’s cock, and then pushing firmly into his asshole. He felt his cock jump in Tyrell’s mouth just from the entrance, but then Tyrell curved his finger, stroking that place in there, and it was like an arrow of fire shooting from that spot deep inside him through the base of his dick, all the way up the shaft to the tip. His stomach muscles clenched, one arm flung over his face automatically. He knew he wasn’t going to be able to hold on, and he didn’t care. The wave of orgasm rushed up from the pit of his abdomen, up his torso, until even his chest was on fire, and he cried out once, unable to help it. Tyrell was watching him, he knew, his eyes squeezed shut under his forearm, as he gritted his teeth and then bucked, again and again, into Tyrell’s face, the spurts coming out with such force he didn’t know how Tyrell didn’t choke. If Tyrell had choked, he wouldn’t have stopped, he would have held on to his head with his hands and made him take all of it. There was no need for that, though; Tyrell held on, keeping his mouth moving just enough, swallowing until the last shudder went through Elliot’s body and he laid still, muscles still clenched, slowly relaxing.

Elliot felt Tyrell remove himself and get up off him, heard the rustle of clothing as he smoothed himself off, got a handkerchief from a pocket somewhere and wiped his mouth and hand. Then Tyrell laid down on his side next to Elliot. Elliot’s breathing was coming back to normal, or something beyond normal, a rhythmic slowness he didn’t usually have. Throughout his body, his muscles were relaxed in that way that made him realize how tense they had been for the last several hours without him noticing. How tense they were pretty much most of his waking hours. He opened his eyes, turned his head toward Tyrell, was a little startled how close his face was to him. Tyrell was up on one elbow, leaning his head on his hand, watching Elliot with a small smile.

The way he looked at Elliot was a little too intense for him sometimes. Elliot used to find his gaze unsettling, threatening – and he still did, but now he realized where it came from, he realized his power. Tyrell was completely fucking in love with him. The idea of someone being in love with him was still kind of laughable to Elliot, kind of beyond him, but he was learning how to work with it. That part of him that was always planning, always figuring things out without emotion, liked this; these feelings of Tyrell’s would be useful in so many ways. Loyalty, devotion – these things were exactly what Elliot would need once the split happened, and the events that would follow. He was starting to see that he would be able to trust Tyrell completely to do all the things he needed Tyrell to do.

He trusted Angela, too, of course. Completely, without question. That was a given. 

“I should go,” Elliot said quietly, looking away from Tyrell finally and starting to sit up. Tyrell chuckled and placed his hand firmly on Elliot’s chest, pushing him back down. 

“You think you’re going to get away that easily?”

“Won’t Joanna wonder where you are?” Elliot asked, leaning backwards on his elbows and looking up at Tyrell. He knew Tyrell hated him bringing her name up during their meetings. Tyrell frowned a little, sighed. Elliot knew Tyrell loved his wife, was devoted to her as well, but in a completely different way. It was of no concern to Elliot. He knew Joanna knew about Tyrell’s extracurricular exploits, although she probably did not know that Tyrell loved any of them. Elliot did not consider her an impediment in any way to what they were doing here – the sex, or the plans they were laying, the new future they were building together for the world. 

“She may wonder why I had work both last night and today,” Tyrell said. “Never mind that, though. You and I have business to discuss. Plus…” He trailed off, taking one of Elliot’s hands and placing it on the bulge in the front of his pants.

Angela has the keys to his apartment, Elliot thinks; she can leave when she wants to – I’ll text her later. This is important for so many reasons. The animal, seeking part of Elliot, the part that just wants to get high again and again, craved touching Tyrell, needed desperately to get him off, needed to free that dick and get it up inside him. The calculating, flat intelligence in Elliot, meanwhile, watched each of these transportative sex acts with a cold eye, knowing that each touch, each climax cemented Tyrell more to his will, into his service.

At some point, he needed to tell Tyrell at least the basics of what he planned to do to his own mind. Tyrell needed some warning, as part of his instructions for the next steps. Elliot was not sure what would happen to his thing with Tyrell during the split. The arrangement he was working on was that one facet of him would know Tyrell, and the other would remember Angela. However, it was impossible to predict whether one or both of the new Elliots would still lust after Tyrell, would still want him. The Elliot who still remembered Tyrell would be the prophet, the organizer, the mouthpiece; he would give Tyrell orders, lead him to each stage. Would that Elliot crave Tyrell’s dick in him? He didn’t know. Elliot was going to have to prepare Tyrell for this, had to be made to understand that the sex part would have to be suspended for a while. Possibly until Elliot re-joined, if that ever was to happen. (Angela, so caught up in trying to understand “cures” for what he planned to do to himself. He couldn’t bring himself to tell her that he hung no hope of ever being cured. He was ready to split his mind into parts forever for the sake of what they were working to accomplish.)

Maybe Tyrell would just have to re-seduce one of the new Elliots. Or both of them. That might not be that hard.

For now, Elliot didn’t need to tell Tyrell any of this. Tyrell did not yet need to know. Instead, Elliot unbuckled Tyrell’s belt and started unzipping his pants.


	3. Chapter 3

It had been a month since Elliot did it. Angela was not even sure how. She had presented all her research to him, but she was not even sure which parts of it he used. Did he get the LSD? Did he use the hypnosis techniques? Was it difficult; were there misfires? How many days of work did it take? She knew that a week went by that she didn’t see him, around the time he told her it was about to happen.

At first, Angela didn’t even notice much of a difference. The new Elliot was quiet, as he told her he would be, but he’d always chosen his words carefully. He had warned her that “Elliot-prime” would hate people, would avoid them, but Elliot had always been something of a loner. The new Elliot did seem more anxious than usual. That worried her. And yet, he was almost more caring, more protective of Angela compared to before. There was something sweet about it, at least when he wasn’t fucking up. He had almost derailed a key part of the plan trying to stick up for her, in some kind of chivalrous act at work. But he made himself talk to her about it (she could see how hard it was for him) and apologized so sincerely – so vulnerable and open about how much she meant to him - not something she was used to seeing and hearing from him. 

The new Elliot was the most different in that he was not obsessed every waking minute with the plan, the strategy. She had seen him hatch each piece of it over years, sinking deeper and deeper into it until there was not much else he wanted to do, not much else he had patience for, other than, apparently, fucking Tyrell. She was used to spending hours with Elliot working, preparing. And suddenly: Elliot-prime, naïve and free of the plan. That was the idea. So that he could be gently led into doing each part, knowing no more than he needed to. It was so novel to Angela to spend time with Elliot doing something completely random, talking about something other than what they’d been talking about obsessively for so long. 

On the other hand, she realized, they didn’t talk much at all anymore.

One of the weirdest parts was witnessing Elliot completely fail to recognize Tyrell. Tyrell visited Allsafe as part of a corporate team visit he probably didn’t need to be there for, but Angela knew he was taking the opportunity; Elliot had to meet Tyrell – again – at some point. She watched over the edge of her cubicle as Tyrell stopped behind Elliot’s desk. She held her breath. Elliot had been so sure that the split would work out the way he wanted it to, but she still doubted it, until she saw with her own eyes the look of unknowing on Elliot’s face as he spoke to Tyrell. He had no idea who this person was. Tyrell smiled down at his former lover, clearly as eager to re-kindle their affair as he was to loyally serve the cause. But the look on Elliot’s face was guarded. She read apprehension, even fear in his body. God, it would take some work before this Elliot would accept Tyrell again; he may never trust him as a business partner, much less a sex partner. Fortunately, trust wasn’t necessary for now; the other Elliot was the one who was supposed to work with Tyrell. 

Whoever that was. Angela did not see that other Elliot. That was by design.

But here was Tyrell, the man who had taken up so much of Elliot’s time, and now Elliot ( _her_ Elliot) wouldn’t give him the time of day. Angela couldn’t help feeling a little smug.

\----

Angela didn’t see Elliot much outside of work anymore. This new version of him was reclusive. And she almost wasn’t sure how to approach him, or what to talk about with him anymore, now that the plan was in motion and he had forgotten everything.

She was working hard on the next steps. Darlene was back in town; Angela was aware of the team being assembled, their part progressing, although she didn’t know any of the details. The other Elliot was in control of all that. She was tense, making sure her pieces were in place. This included dating the insufferable Ollie. God, she had grown to hate that douchebag. She fucked him as little as possible, just enough to keep him obsessed with her, though she was pretty sure he had some other women on the side, even so. That was his business, and a good thing, actually; she could leverage that later to threaten to leave him and get him to do whatever she wanted. She and Elliot had picked him out together partly for this very reason, his history of cheating, which Elliot had pieced together in a matter of hours from his email, online dating, and chat history. In fact, for all Angela knew, Elliot (the other one, the one she did not know) had taken steps to actively bring together Ollie and Ollie’s mistress(es). It served the greater good, after all. But for now, at least a little bit longer, Angela was stuck with his miserable ass. Making goddamn sure he used a condom every time; who knew what he would pass on to her otherwise. 

Angela was starting to realize that she missed Elliot. It was strange, because she worked with him; she saw him every day. But the close work together on the plan, the long hours into the night, all that was over. She realized she had to take the initiative on their friendship now, with this new Elliot who did - what, hid in his apartment each moment he was not at work? It occurred to her that this was actually the best time to just hang out with him. A new, fresh Elliot who knew nothing of the plan, or just as little as Darlene – or his other self – was starting to teach him. He was probably pretty empty without all that. He probably needed her.

So on a day that she had a little free time, she packed some weed and her DVD copy of Back to the Future in her bag and went over to see him in his new place. Even his apartment was different; old Elliot had insisted on the move, maybe to better symbolize the switch to the new personality. Maybe moving was actually a key part of making the split work. Nothing of the old walls or items within them remained to trigger any old memories. He had thrown out almost everything he’d owned. Got some new used, shitty furniture; kept some of his computers, that all-important folder of CDs - that was it. So the new apartment was pretty bare. Except that, since the split, he’d acquired a beta fish somehow. That was strange. Old Elliot never had the time or patience to bother with animals, not even a fish. But he’d warned her that quirks might emerge in the new personalities, things that were a little hard to predict. Nothing important, he’d said, but just so you know.

He wasn’t home; she waited outside on his steps. It was a seedy place. As she waited, more than one gross-looking dude said stuff to her as they walked by. Some under their breath; some straight to her face.

At last she spotted him coming up the street. The sight of him gave her such a rush, it made her embarrassed. She felt herself grinning kind of sheepishly as she explained her plan for the evening. God, she hoped so much he’d agree to it. Was it just because she wanted to help him, wanted to make sure he wasn’t too lonely? Who was the lonely one here, really?

He said yes, sure, he’d get high and watch the movie with her, but she could tell he was distracted. Something was going on; probably the other side of him had already begun their conversations. And she had no idea what form the other-him was appearing to him as – someone who looked like him? It might be freaky. But she thought he would be able to put that aside for a while. She would be able to distract him. They could have some fun for once, relax a little.

They headed upstairs, Elliot unlocked his door, and – jeez, maybe Elliot-prime has already been finding ways to relax on his own, Angela thought, glimpsing a body asleep in his bed. Even Elliot seemed a little taken aback. But then Angela looked closer, and was utterly dumbfounded: The person in his bed was clearly a woman.

Angela sucked in a breath. _Okay. Okay. What happened here? Did …_ She watched his face, looking from him to the legs and back tangled in the sheets. She saw him remembering. He seemed embarrassed about it. Elliot had had a girl over, for real – and she was still there.

Angela had known Elliot practically all his life, and she had become fairly certain that Elliot wasn’t interested in women. He had had physical encounters with them, sure, but there never seemed to be much in it for him; in fact, he had said things hinting at some very negative experiences, maybe even assault. Not to mention growing up with that abusive mother – could that make someone wary of women, turn him off to them? Angela didn’t know, but she knew just a fraction of what his mother had done to him, and probably that meant there was ten times more. For some time, Angela had figured maybe Elliot was asexual by nature. Then there was Tyrell, and Angela watched Elliot’s sexuality come to life. She saw him come the closest to being in love that she’d ever seen him, meeting with Tyrell any chance he could get, even when it fucked up the rest of his life, almost like a junkie with a drug. There was her answer. Elliot’s orientation was towards men. (Or maybe even towards Tyrell alone and no one else?) It had felt freeing to know, a sort of relief. That relief is abruptly gone now.

Trying not to stare at the woman in the bed, Angela’s mind put thought together with thought against her will. Possibly, a sliver of him that did dig women had made it into this new personality during the split. Possibly, splitting off all those old, bad memories allowed that part of his sexuality space to flourish. She couldn’t escape the logic of _if he fucks women, then…_ Suddenly, Elliot became available in her head, in a way he fundamentally hadn’t been in the past. She felt her face flush red, and a heat come into the core of her body. She could no longer ignore it. She had wanted him, so bad, for so many years. Her protective, platonic love for her friend was impure and tainted with this wanting. 

New-Elliot fucked women. Jesus. She couldn’t deal with it.

She stammered excuses and an explanation that she would be on her way; they could watch the movie another time. It wasn’t the fact of his having sex that was making her so uncomfortable, of course, or the naked woman – nothing she hadn’t seen before – but let him think that, let him believe she was being a little bit prudish. She just had to get out of there. She couldn’t even be near him right now.

New-Elliot, with his enhanced chivalry or kindness or whatever it was, offered to walk her out, leaving the sleeping woman in his bed.

Out on the stoop again, Angela frowned as one more asshole walking past looked her up and down. “You live in a really bad neighborhood, do you know that?”

“I do know that,” Elliot replied, with his slow voice, in his deadpan way. She wanted to just kiss him. Just… No, Angela. She cut herself off. You held this back for so many years. Don’t give into it now.

“Well, I’d better go. Take care, Elliot.” She smiled at him one last time, turned and headed to the subway.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrell meets Mr. Robot for the first time.

Tyrell had hardly heard from Elliot in the last month. He had expected to get detailed instructions by now, but he was doing nothing for the project but sitting on his hands. It seemed that the initial hack of E Corp was progressing as planned, but Tyrell was barely involved.

Yes, Elliot had said: _Wait for me to come to you – don’t do anything on your own._ Yes, Tyrell’d had a brief update from Angela to indicate that things were under control. But Tyrell couldn’t live with just that. He was so unused to this – sitting back and letting someone else take the reins, waiting for marching orders. And waiting and waiting.

And that wasn’t the only frustrating part. He didn’t have Elliot anymore. Neither of them. God, he missed fucking him. He’d been picking up guys with similar body types, but it only made him more frustrated, touching someone who was a near-miss. He craved Elliot’s particular features, Elliot’s generously proportioned cock… Plus, all these other guys were such morons… None of that delicious tension of playing mind games with the most brilliant mind he’d ever met.

Tyrell was pissed off. At Elliot? Maybe. More so at himself. For letting himself get too invested.

He had told himself that maybe Elliot needed a reminder that he was available to work on the project. For all Tyrell knew, something had gone a bit awry in the personality split and both sides of Elliot had forgotten him. Tyrell needed to step in to reassert his presence. He used this logic as an excuse to stop by Allsafe and introduce himself. Even though he knew that the Elliot who worked at Allsafe was Angela’s Elliot – not the one he was supposed to be in contact with. 

Elliot had warned him that his two new halves would be different, from each other and from the original. This new Elliot seemed to lack the easy confidence (arrogance?) of the Elliot Tyrell had known. As if all of his introversion and nerves and quiet genius had become concentrated in this personality. Angela’s Elliot, meeting Tyrell in Allsafe, not only had no idea who Tyrell was, but was visibly tense, uncomfortable, wary of Tyrell. Less approachable than even the original Elliot, who had been a blissful challenge to coax into Tyrell’s bed.

In any case, it was pure pleasure to see and speak with Elliot again, even if he didn’t remember Tyrell. Way too much pleasure. Tyrell had felt his heart speed up just touching Elliot’s hand in a simple handshake. He’d been fired through with adrenaline the rest of the day. Images of Elliot stirring his loins whenever his mind was otherwise unoccupied.

He knew it was this lust, these thoughts that fueled his foolish move to try to hire Elliot at E Corp. He should have known better. If he had been able to offer the job to _his_ Elliot, it might have been different, perhaps. But that wasn’t supposed to be that half’s role, anyway. Angela’s Elliot was supposed to be the one with the superior programming knowledge. 

Of course Tyrell’s attempt to hire Elliot had failed. Of course the new Elliot, who did not know Tyrell, who had nothing but suspicion and hatred for E Corp, and who understood little so far of the plan he himself had crafted – of course he would refuse to work at E Corp. Tyrell felt like an idiot.

Shortly after that embarrassment, Tyrell was contacted by his Elliot for the first time. An untraceable call to Tyrell’s cell phone. 

“Hello?”

“Hey asshole. Stop trying to fuck everything up,” said Elliot’s voice, brash, irritated. Definitely not the tense and wary person Tyrell had spoken with at Allsafe, and who had turned down the position at E Corp with so much trepidation.

Tyrell started to speak, but this new Elliot barked a day and a time at him. “Park in front of the Coney Island ferris wheel. Come alone.” Click.

Tyrell put his phone down slowly, controlling his breath. He was filled with shame and anger at having fucked up, which he’d surely be called to task for. But also shameful elation that he would soon speak with Elliot again. _The one who knew him._

Tyrell was careful not to be late to the meeting, and was annoyed to have to wait 25 minutes for Elliot, but then there he was, striding toward the car with a strange, cocky but hunched walk, which threw Tyrell off, was not the way of moving he was used to from Elliot. He was dressed differently, too, with a ratty green jacket and yellow scarf Tyrell had never seen before.

New-Elliot got into the car with barely a chin jerk at Tyrell and lit up a cigarette. Tyrell would not have allowed anyone else to smoke in his spotless SUV, but he hardly cared in this case. He swallowed, controlling his urges to climb on top of Elliot in the passenger seat, rip off his clothes. 

“You … You’re the other one,” Tyrell breathed.

Elliot looked at him and took a drag off his cigarette. He was twitchy and loose, none of the stiff tension of the other personality. “Yeah, I’m the ‘other one’. I should be the only one, as far as you’re concerned. Leave the shy guy to Angela like I told you.”

“But you haven’t contacted me – “

“Right, you ever think maybe that’s for a reason? You were supposed to wait for orders. You going rogue on me now?”

Tyrell was silent.

Elliot shook his head and snorted. “Trying to hire him at E Corp. Give me a fucking break. That guy is not going to do anything like that, are you fucking kidding me?” he turned his body toward Tyrell, gesturing with both hands, cigarette waving. “What would that have even accomplished? We’ve been through all this. I’m the one you work with.” 

Tyrell scowled. “And how am I even to know which one of you I’m speaking to at a given moment?”

Elliot let out a breath of irritation, rolling his head along with his eyes. Leaving the cigarette in his mouth, he picked up the ends of the dirty yellow scarf he was wearing and shook them at Tyrell. “Whaddyou think this thing is for? C’mon, man, try to keep up.” 

Tyrell was just being petulant, he knew. He suspected he did not actually need the scarf to know which Elliot was in control. Their body language was distinct enough. Not much about Elliot’s body escaped Tyrell’s notice.

“We were meant to be allies,” he said, frustrated.

“And we are. But it isn’t time yet for you to be involved. When it’s time, you’ll know.” Elliot took a final drag off the cigarette, cracked the window, and tossed it out. “Now: keep your mouth shut, just work your ass off for that evil conglomerate as per usual, and fucking _wait for orders._ We all worked too hard on this thing to risk fucking it all up.”

Tyrell was silent, furious, beating down an impulse to slap Elliot across the face as hard as he could, then kiss that same face.

“Tell me you understand,” Elliot demanded.

“I understand,” Tyrell enunciated through gritted teeth.

“Fine. Good. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got a lot of work to do.” Elliot started to open the passenger side door. Tyrell impulsively reached out and gripped his other wrist, and Elliot turned to look at him. But Tyrell hadn’t planned exactly what to say. 

A desperate part of his brain wanted to ask: _Do you remember that we used to fuck?_ And: _Is that over? When can I have you again?_

“Well, what?” Elliot said to him, impatient. 

Tyrell opened his mouth, but all he could do was shake his head. He would not be so undignified as to ask such things, he told himself. On some level, he knew the real reason he did not ask them was that he was afraid the answers could be: _No; Yes; Never._

Suddenly Elliot smirked at him. “I know what this is about,” he said, closing the SUV door again and leaning in close to Tyrell. “Listen, buddy, keep your mind out of the gutter for once. We’ve got bigger fish to fry right now. You can wait a little while to get your rocks off. You got it?”

Tyrell blinked, sputtered at Elliot – _how dare he_ – but before he could retort, Elliot was getting out of the car, slamming the door.

Elliot leaned down to look at Tyrell through the passenger side window. He had a strangely wide grin. He gave Tyrell one curt wave, and headed off into the night.

Tyrell watched him walk off, his lips pressed together tight. _Asshole. Asshole. Asshole._ He made a fist and punched the steering wheel three, four, five times, stopped only because he did not want to inadvertently hit the horn or set off the car alarm – it wasn’t nearly enough pain, enough violence to quell his emotions. He controlled his breathing, rested his head against the steering wheel to think.

Elliot had not answered even one of Tyrell’s mental questions.

Elliot may not remember their sexual relationship, after all. He may have thought that Tyrell was merely hitting on him, trying to pick him up, for the first time. And was laughingly rebuffing him.

Or did he remember that they had been lovers, and was just slyly putting him off for the time being? There was no way of knowing.

At the same time that Tyrell hated Elliot for keeping him in suspense like this, he was aware of his hard-on, uncomfortably pointed downwards and pressing against his pants. It was exactly the kind of teasing and mind-games from Elliot that got him so aroused – but this time on an entirely new level. If Tyrell could get his hands on Elliot now, he would hold him face-down and fuck him so hard Elliot would see stars, would bleed. 

He would get Elliot back. He would make up for lost time when he did. They would fuck everywhere, for hours, for days, do every kinky and forbidden thing Tyrell’s mind could dream up.

Tyrell thought he could even get a sort of revenge. At some point, he knew he would be asked to disappear for a while. When he did so, nothing would stop him from withholding some information from Elliot. About his whereabouts, about when he would come back. He would make Elliot yearn for him as bad as he now did for Elliot. He’d find a way.

There was nothing Tyrell could do now, though, except open his pants and masturbate, furiously, shamefully, sitting in his car in front of the Coney Island ferris wheel.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Obviously I re-wrote the dialogue in that car scene from Season 1, other than one line - I was too lazy to search through all the eps on Amazon's shitty interface to try to find it (anyone know which episode that was in?) Should I try to stick to dialogue canon? Feedback welcome...


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tyrell is desperate not to be shut out of Stage 1. The requisite scene in Elliot's apartment.

Tyrell did finally get instructions. Staticky calls came from Unknown Number, usually in the middle of the night; the sarcastic version of Elliot gave curt orders to Tyrell. But he was assigned no tasks of much importance.

In one of the calls, Elliot’s cocky sarcasm was faltering; he almost sounded worried. It was an urgent thing. Elliot asked Tyrell to meet him in Steel Mountain later that morning, to help provide some cover while he got a Raspberry Pi in place to take over the thermostat. 

“You or him?” Tyrell asked.

“Well, that’s the funny part, sugar-lips,” Elliot drawled. “Plan was, I was gonna do it, but this anxious fucker is taking charge a little too much these days. I’ll be guiding him, but it’s going to be him in there. Sweet-talking his way past management, getting where he needs to go.” He sighed. “You and I both know he’s not much of a sweet-talker.”

 _Sugar-lips._ Tyrell forced himself to re-focus.

This was not the first time Tyrell noticed that the cocky Elliot in the yellow scarf was not in control as much as he’d thought he would be. Angela’s Elliot was clearly the personality that dominated most of the time. And that personality was making decisions that conflicted with the other one - arguing with him, changing things. The Raspberry Pi was new; last Tyrell had understood, Steel Mountain was simply going to be blown up. 

It made Tyrell worry. The configuration of the personalities, who they were and what they each did, was definitely diverging from what pre-split Elliot had planned. Elliot clearly needed careful management and guidance, and there wasn’t much Tyrell could do about it at the moment.

At least he got to see Elliot at Steel Mountain, however briefly, although it was the Elliot that was terrified of him. It was not easy to help when Elliot was trying to get away from him and hide what he was there to do. He asked Elliot to have lunch with him, to help legitimize Elliot’s presence in the facility – and yes, to spend more time with him. Unexpectedly, Elliot made a wise choice, steering Tyrell toward the private executive restaurant, nearer to where they needed to be. And then he slipped away in a fit of tension and did the thing before Tyrell knew what was happening. 

Tyrell followed Elliot into the bathroom to make sure nobody else entered, noticing that Elliot had apparently vomited in the sink. He sighed. He wanted to tell Elliot: _I’m on your side, I’m in on all of it! Let me help you!_ But he knew there was no way to convince him. Seeing him, Elliot stuttered excuses to him; naturally he would not finish installing the hardware in front of Tyrell. So Tyrell left the bathroom and guarded the door, staring at his phone nonchalantly, long enough for Elliot to finish the job.

The whole thing went off successfully, despite everything. 

\--

In Tyrell’s life, everything was going to shit. The cops following him around after what he’d done to Sharon Knowles. Joanna going into labor. Their baby born – not the most convenient time – and Joanna possibly leaving him. 

Tyrell could handle all of it if he was keyed in to his larger purpose. But he was being largely excluded from the execution of Stage 1, and his frustration over this was reaching a breaking point. He was given other tasks to do, such as using his clout at E Corp to keep the honeypot out of the server, but it was all very minor. After all their planning together, himself and Elliot and Angela, he did not think he would end up playing such a small role in the takedown of all E Corp financial data. Especially since he knew he was going to take the fall for it. He would be a fugitive. Elliot owed it to him to let him at least watch the crime that he would be blamed for.

Despite the fact that he had already been upbraided by his ally for intruding when not asked, Tyrell was determined not to be shut out. He would make Elliot comply, through intimidation if necessary.

He and Angela both had keys to Elliot’s new apartment to use in case of emergencies. Tyrell took advantage of this. Had his driver take him through the seedy streets to Elliot’s place one evening, and let himself in.

Tyrell had never been in Elliot’s new apartment before. It was not unlike his old one (same squalor, in Tyrell’s opinion), except more spare, even fewer personal effects.

Except the fish – and the dog. Filthy thing – why on earth would Elliot suddenly take an interest in pets? In one of their brief conversations, Angela had mentioned that Elliot had a dog now, so Tyrell had brought a bag of dog treats to keep the animal quiet and compliant. 

Tyrell sat down at the desk and waited for Elliot. He looked at the computer Elliot had been using these days, ran his hands over the surfaces Elliot touched every day, the keyboards and mice. He grew bored. He looked over at Elliot’s bed, nothing but a mattress on the floor - and found himself getting up and moving in that direction. The dog whined at him for more treats, so he tossed one into the opposite corner of the apartment so she’d leave him alone.

After a moment of staring down at the rumpled sheets, Tyrell sat down on the mattress. He was a little disgusted with himself, but he couldn’t help leaning down and inhaling from a pillowcase that looked like it hadn’t been washed in months. Elliot-smell exploded in his brain, and he closed his eyes. It had been so long. He was so fucked up from wanting. 

His life had completely unraveled. All he had was Elliot anymore. And even Elliot was being kept from him.

Tyrell would change that. 

Waking up from this reverie, Tyrell quickly stood up again, smoothed his suit-jacket, and walked over to the window so he could see when Elliot got home.

In time, he saw Elliot being helped unsteadily along the sidewalk toward his building by a tall woman Tyrell recognized as Darlene. He swore under his breath in Swedish. He couldn’t be here with her here. He would have to leave and wait until she was gone.

He quickly exited the apartment and locked the door behind him. Thinking fast, he found the back door to the fire escape and went out that way. From the alleyway, he watched and waited until he saw Darlene leave. Now was the time to talk to Elliot. He slipped back inside.

\----

Almost as soon as Darlene left to pick up his prescription (not that he planned on taking any of it, but there was no point in arguing), Elliot was alarmed to see his door quietly opening. His heartbeat lurched. This wasn’t Darlene coming back because she forgot her wallet or something: Darlene would not be quiet like that. 

When he saw that it was Tyrell, the panic rose up in his throat and his vision went gray at the edges. _What the fuck was he doing here._

As he entered the apartment, Tyrell locked eyes with him and held his finger to his lips. _Shhhh._

Elliot was dimly aware that the smart thing to do right now might be to run. Just leave the fucker in his apartment, sprint down the street, get on the subway, go anywhere. But Elliot felt frozen. For one thing, Tyrell was between him and the door. But something else kept his feet planted in place. Something like … Curiosity. That self-destructive part of his mind that just wanted to know, even if finding out could mean getting hurt, getting arrested, death. All fear usurped by the need for information about who Tyrell was, why he was so interested in Elliot, why he had come here. 

As they spoke to each other, Tyrell did not help his curiosity or his anxiety by proceeding to describe to Elliot how he had recently strangled a woman to death. 

_Why in the living fuck would he break into my apartment to tell me he killed someone?_

Logically, Elliot knew that it was a threat, especially when Tyrell pulled on a pair of blue latex gloves. But somehow that curious part of his mind didn’t believe it, still didn’t want to run. 

_I guess this is where I die?_ A part of him considered this idea impassionately. Not so small a part of him took this possibility with a shrug. (Even as fear stupidly, helplessly coursed through his body.) It wasn’t like he’d been enjoying life all that much lately. 

Tyrell wanted to be shown Stage 1. Elliot felt like complying; he almost felt like all the threats and intimidation weren’t necessary. A part of him just wanted to turn himself in. Just make it all be over.

Except Tyrell would not turn him in. He saw that. The more Tyrell spoke, the more Elliot read his face, Elliot saw that Tyrell was actually very excited about the hacks Elliot had been doing. He looked almost fanatical. Tyrell…

…Was a true believer.

In taking down E Corp. In F Society.

In Elliot.

The truth of these observations clicked into place in Elliot’s brain like interlocking legos, even though none of it made sense. Tyrell had moved forward until he was way too close to Elliot, so close Elliot could smell the mint on his breath. And then those gloved hands were on either side of Elliot’s face.

Elliot no longer feared bodily harm or death. But his heart pounded on relentlessly, the adrenaline continued to rush through his veins. Had fear gone so far that it had come around the other side of the circle, into some new, exhilarating emotion? 

“Elliot,” Tyrell whispered, staring at him. 

Why did Elliot want to put his own hands on Tyrell’s waist? Why did he want to encircle this man with his arms? Was this some new trickery of his broken mind?

Elliot closed his eyes, feeling oddly ready for whatever happened next. He felt a warm mouth press on his own. He thought of Angela. He had tried not to think too frequently of that vision of her he’d had in the sweaty miasma of withdrawal, face bright, saying _Yes._ But that image came back to him now vividly, and he filled in her face behind his eyelids to match the sensations of being kissed. His beautiful friend. His angel.

The larger body that pressed into his, the masculine arms that wrapped around him, made the image of Angela flicker and stutter. And yet there was still a familiarity, a comfort in this body somehow. Elliot tentatively placed his hands on the man’s lower back, wondering why the curves of the muscles there felt like an oasis. He pressed his face forward, opening his mouth, let his tongue slip in to touch the other’s tongue. The body he was holding made a sound, a low moan of pure lust, an inescapably male voice – and Elliot’s dick, getting harder, twitched in his pants. Lost in some tunnel of pleasure, of denial, he did not care, did not question anything.

The mouth broke off from Elliot’s, and he heard Tyrell’s voice, breathless: “God, you have no idea how much I’ve needed you…”

Making out with a guy was one thing. Making out with Tyrell, though. Logic screamed at Elliot from within his skull. Danger flags covered his cognitive landscape. 

But that was all on the surface, aboveground. Underneath that landscape was a dark ocean. Elliot had no idea what it contained, but emotions swam up from it. The absurd calmness, the curiosity. The sense of familiarity. A feeling of things being right. 

And wanting. Wanting Tyrell. Lust beyond what he could remember ever experiencing. _How interesting,_ said the curious, detached bit of him. He didn’t even know, concretely speaking, what he wanted to do to Tyrell, but this desire was as far beyond what he’d had for Shayla as an ocean was from a pond. He didn’t know he was capable of wanting someone this bad. 

Elliot did not answer Tyrell, just slammed his mouth back on his. Tyrell’s arms were so tight around him, his breathing felt cut short. Tyrell sucked at Elliot’s lower lip, roughly mouthed the side of Elliot’s jaw, his neck. Elliot felt himself being walked backward toward the mattress, and complied, sitting down and letting Tyrell sprawl over him. As they kissed, Tyrell pushed him down on his back and he felt Tyrell’s cock press against him, grinding. _This should be alarming._ Instead: still nothing but desire. 

Tyrell was murmuring something, in a desperate voice. “It’s been so hard to be apart from you,” he said. “You made me wait so long… You bastard.” His tone was too intimate. He’d only met Tyrell a few months ago, barely knew him. Right? For a moment, though, another emotion swam up from the ocean: a thrilling sense of power over Tyrell. Unbidden, Elliot felt a smirk come over his face.

Tyrell’s eyes widened. “You remember me,” he whispered uncertainly. “Did you remember me this entire time?” He sat up, still straddling Elliot’s lap. Anger filled his eyes. “Have you been just _playing_ with me?”

Elliot shook his head. The rush of blood in his veins started to feel more like fear again. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” he managed to croak out of a dry throat. “I met you at Allsafe …You offered me a job at E Corp. I said no. I wasn’t … playing.”

Tyrell was still, searching his face for a long minute.

The moment was lost; Elliot didn’t know what he was doing underneath this man. He sat up and pulled his legs out from under Tyrell. “Listen. You want me to show you what we’ve been doing? I’ll show you. I’ll take you to F Society.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (This was going to be one big chapter with scenes in F Society, but it got too long, so I broke it up - that part is coming next.)  
> (Yeah I know, everyone has to write sexy-times happening in his apartment & at F Society but... how can I help it? The show/canon really gives us no choice but to think about it, right?)


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot shows Tyrell F Society (and some other things.) And then blips out.

Tyrell drove. Elliot directed him. He stole a glance over at Tyrell when they neared their destination. Tyrell’s face was composed again; he’d put his suit-jacket back on and taken off those blue gloves. Elliot knew by rights he should still be alarmed. Even if Tyrell was no threat to him personally, wasn’t he a threat to F Society? To the success of Stage 1? To Darlene?

But whatever magic his mind was feeding him kept him calm and quiet. This was Mr. Robot’s doing, Elliot decided. Mr. Robot had even mentioned that he had spoken with Tyrell. Elliot supposed Mr. Robot had spoken with him much more than just once. They clearly went way back. Possibly Mr. Robot had even been - _whatever_. Fucking him?

_With my body._

Now, that was a creepy thought.

He directed Tyrell to the storefront on Coney Island, led him down the alleyway and let him into the arcade. He flipped on the siphoned electricity and let an awestruck Tyrell look around. 

He explained the details of Stage 1 that Tyrell so badly wanted to know. He lied about anyone else being involved; even if his instinct to protect himself was gone, he was not going to sell out the others - especially Darlene. 

Tyrell asked him why he did it, and Elliot was not so sure he could answer that question himself.

“I don’t know.” He looked up at Tyrell. “I wanted to save the world.”

At that, Tyrell made a sound in his throat like a sob. They stared at each other for a moment, and Tyrell strode over to him, again too close, but Elliot felt his body respond positively to this instead of recoiling. Tyrell looked like he was about to cry from joy, and Elliot wondered at that, at his capacity to cause this man so much emotion. Neither of them really started it, both of them reacting to each other’s movements: their arms were around each other and they were kissing again. Tyrell’s face was flushed with warmth. In Elliot’s ears, both of their breathy sounds drowned out the background noise of arcade-beeping and tinny music.

His eyes still closed, Elliot felt Tyrell’s mouth kiss its way down his neck, to his collarbone, and then pull away. Hands slid around his hips under his shirt, and he flinched and looked down. Tyrell was on his knees in front of him, gazing up at him with something like awe.

“You’re a genius,” he breathed, “my genius…” as he unzipped Elliot’s jeans. 

Danger flags popped up all over his brain again, but Elliot stood stock still and let Tyrell reach in his shorts and take out his erection, excitable-twitching after all their kissing. And then Tyrell’s wet, reddened lips descended over it.

 _This man who killed a woman has your dick in his mouth._ But it felt so good. _A man!_ Elliot did not care. A mouth was a mouth, right? And Jesus, Tyrell knew what he was doing. His jaws and tongue were so strong, creating delicious friction, his throat deep and yielding. As he sank in to the hilt, Tyrell’s face pressed into his abdomen and Elliot shuddered. Tyrell’s hands gripped his hips. Everything was too intense. Elliot tentatively ran a hand through Tyrell’s soft hair, and Tyrell gave a moan of pleasure and acquiescence that Elliot could feel. Tyrell was sucking him powerfully, not allowing him any time to breathe or think. The build seemed to skip the whole middle part: he was already about to come. His head jerked back. He hovered on the brink for a blinding stretched-out moment, heard himself cry out. Then he was pumping his come deep into Tyrell’s mouth.

And right after that, he lost time. 

He woke up in Tyrell’s car, fully dressed, alone. He had no idea where the car was parked. He sensed that a lot of time had passed, not just an hour or two. Maybe more time than he’d ever lost. 

For some reason, he thought about the gun Darlene had tried to give him. Which he had not taken. Which she had done what with? Left it in the arcade somewhere?

Two thoughts dominated Elliot's mind. The gun. And Tyrell going down on him. 

_Fucking Mr. Robot. What did he do._


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mr. Robot has to convince Tyrell he should have the gun. And finally gives it to him good...

Tyrell had hoped the blow job he’d just given Elliot wasn’t the end of it. But after Elliot finished, the other Elliot took over. 

It wasn’t obvious at first. Tyrell detached himself at last, stood and fetched his handkerchief from his suit jacket, which was hung over a nearby chair. He looked up at Elliot, who seemed spaced out, swaying a little on his feet; Tyrell felt a warm satisfaction for having made him come so hard. But then as Tyrell watched, wiping his mouth absently, Elliot’s body rearranged itself. His eyes snapped open and his face settled into a smug grin, leering at Tyrell’s handkerchief. He snorted in amusement and reached in his pocket for a cigarette.

“Well, well. Look who finally got to suck my cock,” Said the other Elliot. He lit the cigarette and took a drag, then held it on display philosophically. “Post-coital cancer-stick, if you will, even though I didn’t get to enjoy the coitus part.”

“You … You didn’t feel it?” Tyrell asked, disoriented. Where did each of them go when the other was in charge?

Elliot sat on the corner of a nearby desk, legs spread open, hands on his knees. He regarded Tyrell with his head cocked to one side. “Well I knew something was going on, I’ll tell you that. You sure got the other guy’s blood boiling, and that blood’s in my veins now. But no, I didn’t get to fuck that sweet mouth of yours, sugar.” He took another drag, grinning wide, holding Tyrell’s eyes. Tyrell swallowed dryly, feeling weak. He tried to evaluate what was happening, but the way Elliot was talking to him interfered with his ability to think. _Fuck that sweet mouth._ He was playing with him again. Making Tyrell think he was coming on to him, but it couldn’t be that simple, he had some other game.

Elliot kept going, looking around the room as if he was just talking to himself. “Nope, no release for ‘Mr. Robot.’ I wasn’t the one that got to blow his wad down your throat. In fact,” he continued, while Tyrell tried to place that name he’d just given himself, “that guy and I don’t even share refractory periods. The two of you got me all worked up and I’m still hard.” He gestured at his crotch.

Alright then. That was clear enough for Tyrell. He went over to where Elliot was sitting on the desk, licking his lips, but Elliot stood up and held Tyrell at bay with one hand against his chest. “Now hold on, what do you think you’re doing,” Elliot _(Mr. Robot?)_ said with a chuckle, shaking his head. “You got everything you wanted out of that guy, and still you’re not satisfied?”

Tyrell met his eye. “Not everything,” he growled.

Elliot put his hands on Tyrell’s shoulders, leaned in, talking in a low voice around his cigarette. “Yeah, I know, buddy. You’re all worked up, too. I know you need to be fucked so hard. And maybe, just maybe I’ll feel like treating you to that today. Not that you deserve it, disobeying orders YET again.”

He detached his hands and plucked his cigarette out of his mouth again. “But I got a couple of things to show you first.” With that, he hopped off the desk and moved away from Tyrell toward the popcorn machine. “You hungry?”

Tyrell frowned and laughed a little at this odd question. “No, thank you.”

“Oh that’s right. You already ate.” Mr. Robot shoved his hand right in the popcorn ( _disgusting_ , thought Tyrell) and dug around in it for a moment. When it came out, covered in oil and salt, it was holding a black object. Tyrell belatedly realized it was a gun, once Mr. Robot pointed at him, a couple feet away.

“What… Are you doing?” Tyrell asked with trepidation. “Mr. Robot” - this crude, unpredictable version of Elliot - stood there staring at Tyrell with a blank expression, gun pointed at Tyrell’s chest, not moving. Slowly, fearfully, Tyrell raised his hands above his head. What the fuck was he trying to do?

Finally, Mr. Robot broke his straight face into a laugh and lowered the gun. “I’m just fucking with you. Don’t you know I never get tired of fucking with you, sugar?” He looked so amused. Tyrell took a deep breath and lowered his arms, trying not to let his rage show on his face. 

“Now listen to me carefully. This is for you. Show me you know how to use it.” He flipped it around and pressed the handle into Tyrell’s hand.

Tyrell hissed at Elliot. “Are you out of your mind? I don’t want this thing!” He tried to push the gun back but Elliot wouldn’t take it back, kept pressing.

“No, no, no, no, no. Listen to me. There is going to be a time you’re going to need to use it.”

“And what time could that possibly be?”

“You might have to shoot me,” Mr. Robot said, and Tyrell was so shocked he stopped trying to fight and let Mr. Robot leave the gun in his hands.

Mr. Robot nodded and took a long drag, cigarette burning bright. “Yeah, that’s right. You know already that the other guy is kind of taking charge a lot. More than we’d planned. And he’s different, you know that. He’s different from me. He’s different from who we both used to be.” He finished the cigarette, dropped the butt and just ground it out right on the floor. He shrugged. “Emergent behavior. Who would’ve thought, right?”

Tyrell pressed his lips together again in order to not scream at Elliot. _Angela and I both raised concerns to you about this very thing, you arrogant prick._

“In any case. I’ve gotten to know the little shit pretty well by now. He’s on a high horse sometimes – I guess we gave him too much of the idea of being a hero. Won’t put up with any innocent lives lost, at least ones too obvious to ignore. So he’s going to try to mess up Stage 2. That I can be pretty certain about.” Mr. Robot slapped Tyrell’s shoulder in a paternal sort of way. “You’re going to set up Stage 2. And if he tries to stop it – well.” He jerked his head toward the gun in Tyrell’s hands. “You will have to stop him, my friend.”

Tyrell stared at the gun and shook his head, horrified. Before he could speak, Mr. Robot was slipping behind him and molding Tyrell’s grip on the gun. Despite his tension, Tyrell couldn’t help but enjoy feeling Elliot(Robot)’s arms around his body. “There you go, both hands,” he said, then guided Tyrell’s hands away from his body to stretch his arms out. “Now. Arms out. That’s good. Take the kick-back in your shoulders. Like this.” Pressing gently to make his arms pop up. “There you go. Now take off the safety –“

“You’re honestly not going to have me practice firing this thing in here?”

“One shot,” said Mr. Robot, close to his left ear. “One shot, just show me you can do it, and I’ll reward you mightily, you horny sonofabitch. I promise.”

He took Tyrell by the waist and turned him towards a bit of empty wall behind the popcorn machine. “Just try to hit that crack in the wall right there. C’mon, it’s easy.” He stood to the side of Tyrell and guided him in taking off the safety.

Tyrell’s hands were shaking, but he straightened out his arms and sighted down the barrel. He swallowed. He resisted the urge to squeeze his eyes shut, and he pulled the trigger. The noise made him flinch, but he managed to keep his elbows straight and take the kick-back in his shoulders.

There was a small broken hole in the wall now, near the crack. A chunk of painted plaster fell to the floor.

“Not bad, not bad!” Robot cheered him, clapping him hard on the back which made Tyrell gasp and swear. He fumbled with the safety, trying to get it back on. He heard the scrape of the shell rolling on the hard floor, and it occurred to him he should pick it up, but Mr. Robot distracted him from that thought immediately by taking the barrel of the gun Tyrell was still holding and placing it point-blank against his own abdomen. They looked each other in the eyes. Robot looked preternaturally calm. Tyrell knew his face must show his panic.

“Now, when – I mean _if_ you shoot me – or him, rather - aim here. Nice and low, miss the heart. A little to the side, so you miss the aorta. Maybe hit a kidney, but we all got two of those. They’ll fix me up, I’ll be fine.”

Tyrell shook his head from side to side slowly, not daring to breathe. The safety was still not on. He felt sweat running down the sides of his head, thinking about how one small movement of his finger could rip that hole in Elliot’s body right now.

“I can’t do this. I wouldn’t be able to.” His voice was shaking. 

“Tell Angela, too, so she’ll know she has to come take care of me.”

“I couldn’t. I won’t.”

“You will,” Robot said softly, his eyes going wide, looking more like the original Elliot for just a moment. “For the cause. You can. You will. Trust me.”

Tyrell was still. 

“Trust me, Tyrell.”

The way he spoke his name brought back floating memories of Elliot. The first Elliot, who Tyrell would do anything for. He had sworn to be loyal to Elliot and his grand idea. His plan to save the world. If this fragment, this alternate Elliot gave him an order, Tyrell was duty-bound to follow it.

Slowly, Tyrell nodded his head.

The smirk returned on Elliot-Robot’s face; the sarcastic fragment fully showed itself again. “Good boy.” He took the gun from Tyrell, pulled the safety back on, and handed it back. “Keep that in your waistband at all times.”

“…It’s not legal to carry a firearm in New Y-“

Robot cut him off with a full-throated laugh. “Right! Because we only do things that are legal!” Tyrell shut his mouth, face hot. He untucked his shirt slowly and lifted up the hem, glaring at Robot, and jammed the gun barrel-down in his pants.

“That’s right,” said Robot with appreciation, approaching him. “Now. I think you’ve made up for all your disobedience. And I know, you have waited a very long time.” He took Tyrell’s tie in one hand and looked him up and down, then yanked. Tyrell gasped, choking a little, but let his face be pulled down to Robot’s, who pressed a hard, almost painful kiss on him. Tyrell grabbed Robot by the waist, but Robot broke off the kiss and set to work undoing Tyrell’s tie. Tyrell tried to kiss him again, but Robot jerked his head away. “Patience, patience,” he scolded.

Robot got the tie off and threw one end over his shoulder, unbuttoned Tyrell’s shirt and tossed that on the floor. Tyrell was already out of breath, excited and a little afraid what Robot would do – how this version of Elliot went about things.

Robot looked around, hands absently running up and down Tyrell’s chest. “Let’s see. You wanna be fucked on a Skee Ball machine?” 

“I don’t care, anywhere,” Tyrell breathed.

Robot regarded the row of Skee Ball machines. “Nah. I want to do you from behind… How about bent over a desk, the good old-fashioned way.” He took the gun out of Tyrell’s pants and shoved it into his own back pocket. He unbuckled Tyrell’s belt and undid his pants, quickly shucked them down so Tyrell was hobbled by the fabric, and moved him by the hips toward the desk awkwardly, lifting him a little when he stumbled. Tyrell felt himself roughly bent over the desk, his palms slamming on its surface. “All the way down,” Robot said, pulling Tyrell’s arms out from under him by the wrists and pressing his chest and face down onto the desk. Tyrell groaned a little in discomfort, turning his face sideways so he could rest on his cheek, and felt Robot fumbling with his wrists behind his back. Before he could struggle or protest, he found that his wrists had been tied together behind his back with his own tie. One of Robot’s hands pressed between his shoulder blades, holding him down.

Tyrell laughed weakly. “Very funny, making me think of Joanna,” he said. “But you and I don’t do those things.” 

“Well, we do now,” said Robot, using his other hand to strip Tyrell’s boxers off in one motion. Cold air grazed Tyrell’s bare ass, and he shivered.

“Anyway, you know I’m the one who does the tying up,” Tyrell spoke again, trying to sound confident. There was no movement for a moment behind him and his heart skipped a beat. Then Robot’s mouth was near his ear. “Listen you entitled, horny little motherfucker,” Robot growled by Tyrell’s head. Unexpectedly, a hard slap landed on Tyrell’s ass. He jumped. “I’m going to fuck you, and I’m going to do it my way.” A resounding slap on his other ass cheek. Tyrell jumped again, his body tense, and struggled against the tie, but it was knotted tight, and Robot’s arm holding him down was strong. “You…! How dare you…” His own spluttering voice sounded pathetic and just added to his humiliation, while Robot laughed at him and gave him one more hard spank. Tyrell jerked and growled in frustration.

Then one of Robot’s hands reached around to grab his erection. Tyrell sucked in air and went still. He was mortified to notice that being tied up and spanked only seemed to have made him rock-hard. Robot stroked him slowly, just enough to make Tyrell’s brain short-circuit. He would put up with the indignity of being spanked (god), he would put up with anything. He’d let Elliot-Robot tie him hand-and-foot to bedposts and stuff Joanna’s ball gag in his mouth, if only he’d fuck him the way he needed to be fucked.

Robot’s other hand lifted off his back and Tyrell heard him spit on it. Slippery fingertips rimmed Tyrell’s asshole, and Tyrell moaned into the desk, closing his eyes. It was so long since he and Elliot had done this. When they’d been together, Tyrell had mostly topped, and even when Elliot had, he’d been somewhat of a minimalist about it - he rarely spent extra time just touching Tyrell like this. 

Robot kept stroking, in front and behind, until Tyrell was thrusting backwards on Robot’s fingers. Finally, he felt the fingers pushing roughly into his asshole, two at a time. Tyrell opened up for him quickly, even though it had been so long since he’d let anyone fuck him this way. His body was so ready for it.

Both of Robot’s hands pulled away then, and Tyrell strained against his bonds again, desperate to be touched. Robot just chuckled at him. “All in good time, baby,” he murmured. He heard Robot undo his own belt and pants, and the crinkling of a condom wrapper being ripped. “Just in case,” Robot said, seemingly to himself, his voice taking on a bitter note. “God knows what kind of shit Vera passed on to me.”

Tyrell waited while Robot rolled the condom down on his cock. _Who the hell was Vera?_ He’d have to ask about that later. 

He heard the sound of Robot spitting again, and wet noises of him coating his sheathed cock in saliva. The firm hand returned to rest on his back, while the tip of Robot’s dick touched his asshole and pressed gently, teasing. He heard Robot cluck his tongue behind him, his dick moving away, then pressing again. “You’re too tight, sugar.”

“Try me.”

Robot made a low laugh in his throat and pushed harder. They both gasped as the head of Robot’s cock finally slid inside. There wasn’t quite enough lubrication, but Tyrell didn’t care. He felt himself relax slowly, then tried to push back into that cock, but Robot held him firm. Tyrell made a frustrated noise.

“Ask nice,” Robot admonished him.

Tyrell tried to laugh. “I won’t play your little games. Fuck me.”

Robot sighed, and his cock moved slightly inside Tyrell as he reached behind himself for something. “That’s how you want it? Fine. I guess I’ll have to show you who’s in charge.” Tyrell felt cold metal press against the back of his neck. The barrel of the gun.

All of Tyrell’s hairs stood up on his skin, and nausea rose in his throat. He was on his face on a desk, hands tied and held down, helpless, with some crazy, unpredictable version of Elliot above him, who could do anything he wanted to him. Holding a fucking gun on him.

He forced his fear down with reason: he had not heard the safety slide back, it was still on. Elliot/Robot did not actually want to kill him, or risk doing so, he told himself. This was just power games.

“I’m waiting,” Robot growled above him, shoving the gun harder into his neck. “C’mon. Magic word.”

Tyrell grimaced. The fucker was really not going to give it to him unless he completely debased himself. “Please,” he rasped. 

Robot let out a long moan of a sort old-Elliot would never have made, and finally sank completely inside of Tyrell. Tyrell shut his eyes in bliss. He forgot about the gun, he didn’t care about anything except Elliot’s beautifully thick cock filling him up.

“Good, good… Keep it up…” Robot murmured to him.

“Please fuck me, Elliot. Please.” He told himself he was just role-playing to get what he wanted, but something real and raw seeped up into his voice as he said the words. 

Robot moved his hips slowly. “That’s great, sweetheart. Keep it going.”

“…Please, I need you, I’ve needed you for so long,” Tyrell whispered, hating himself for loving this.

“Please what?” Robot breathed. The gun moved away and Tyrell heard it slip back into a pocket.

“Please fuck me... More, harder. Please, Elliot!”

Robot really unleashed into him then, thrusting fast and deep. Tyrell cried out in pain and pleasure. It was too much, too rough, but it was what he expected, what he needed. One of those firm hands reached around to Tyrell’s hard-on again and Tyrell shimmied his hips to move inside the curled fingers. The front of Robot’s pelvis was slapping against his ass; he thought again of the humiliation of being spanked, and his building pleasure abruptly jumped a level. 

“I could fuck you all day long, sugar,” Robot said, between breaths, “but I’m going to make you come, when and how I want it. And I know how to do it… Someone showed me once.” He pressed himself in close to Tyrell’s body and rose onto his toes, changing the angle, thrusting down toward Tyrell’s stomach, increasing the pressure on his prostate to an almost unbearable degree. Tyrell coughed out a desperate groan. At the same time, Robot’s hand slid over and over his shaft, the thumb gliding over the head to spread his pre-come. It was much more than Tyrell could take. He felt the utter loss of control of orgasm slam into him, and he let it take him over completely. He was aware of his ass clamping tight on Robot’s cock, almost preventing it from moving, but Robot fucked on relentlessly, finally keening out and crashing a final few times into Tyrell before going still with a shudder.

Tyrell was panting, muscles limp as he lay face-down on the desk. In this moment, he had no fears, no regrets. This was still his Elliot. All the facets of Elliot were his, would always be his. 

\----

They sat side by side on the floor, Tyrell in his boxers and his unbuttoned shirt, Robot’s pants hiked back on but unzipped. Robot wordlessly offered Tyrell a hit off his cigarette, and Tyrell took it and inhaled, coughing a little. He hadn’t smoked since the last time he was with Elliot, non-dissociated Elliot, months ago.

Tyrell handed the cigarette back. “So… Who’s this Vera?” Tyrell asked, curious and jealous. “You’ve been taking other lovers?”

Robot laughed humorlessly. “Shit, no, not Vera, that psycho sick fuck.” He took a drag. “And not me, exactly. The other guy. Had this girl called Shayla. Poor fucking Shayla.” Robot looked at the ground. He had never sounded like this, bitter and sad.

Tyrell frowned. _Elliot had had sex with a woman?_ “What happened to her?”

Robot was quiet for a moment. He sighed. “She got raped by Vera – which is why I have to think about what I might have picked up from that sick piece of shit. And she’s gone now… And it’s all because of the motherfucking other guy.”

“What are you talking about?”

Robot was muttering more to himself than to Tyrell. “Hypocritical motherfucker. Thinks he’s some kind of knight in shining armor… Thinks he’s saving lives, trying to save the fucking world… He’s already got innocent people killed. And there’s going to be more. But there was no fucking reason he had to do that to Shayla.”

Tyrell bit his lip uncertainly, trying to take all this in. Elliot screwing other people besides Tyrell, to start with. That left a frisson of resentment and possession coursing up Tyrell’s spine. Elliot screwing women, in particular: this was definitely new. Emergent behavior, indeed. 

And then: Elliot caused this girl’s death? What did Robot mean by this? How had it happened? Tyrell wasn’t sure he wanted to know. 

Maybe both of them were murderers now.

Then again, his Elliot, this Mr. Robot, had shown a disturbing lack of mental stability today. All the things he’d done with that gun. Who knows what had really happened, if this Vera and Shayla story had any truth to it. Both the new Elliots, Tyrell realized, were out of control. He looked over at Robot warily. His companion was still lost in thought, looking at nothing while his cigarette burned in his hand. Tyrell knew he could not really trust either one of the identities. But he depended on them for so much. And he loved who they used to be.

Finally Robot finished his cigarette and stood up. He zipped up his pants, fastened his belt. “Alright. C’mon, get dressed. We got work to do.”

Tyrell stood and began buttoning up his shirt. “What work?”

Robot fetched Tyrell’s pants and shoved them at his chest. His cocky smile was back. “Time to start Stage 2.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew, this got long...


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot explores his own sexual confusion

_Prison gives you a lot of time to do a lot of pointless navel-gazing._ Time to ponder things like what your sexual orientation is, and whether you should care.

It was too embarrassingly self-involved a topic to write about in his journal. In any case, Elliot imagined that his thoughts about sex were too murky to articulate on paper.

He had written extensively about Carla, of course. He was not shy about admitting that he was a little obsessed with her. Over the past few weeks, his limited life had practically revolved around her. He lived for tiny things like her forking over one of her pancakes at breakfast. Sharing her cigarette; her revealing to him she’s from North Carolina. He had been devouring the Vonnegut book she'd handed him, trying to figure out why she wanted him to read this particular book: Was there a message in it somewhere that she wanted to send him? He defended his obsession with Carla in his journal, writing that he was trying to make friends and be social, be a little more like normal people. He was fully aware he was deluding himself on several levels. He knew, he knew he was into her, in a more-than-friends way. 

In some ways, it was a relief, a welcome distraction from his other obsessions, like the one about Tyrell. He deluded himself about that obsession, too. He wrote about it in his journal as if the only reason he desperately needed to know where Tyrell was, was because he needed to know if he was a murderer. Which was perhaps the chief reason, but it was more complicated than that. He couldn’t shake the sense of warm comfort he had felt when their bodies were pressed together. He had trouble clearing his head of a lot of pervy thoughts that had haunted him since that blowjob, thoughts he felt sick about for a whole host of reasons, not the least because he was having sex fantasies about someone he might have killed. 

His preoccupation with Carla helped him be less preoccupied with Tyrell, even if maybe he had only traded one confusing set of sex-urges for another.

He knew that she was _she._ That was what transgender meant, as far as his limited knowledge of the subject allowed. It was clear to him partly from the stark contrast in how Santos and her other abusers referred to her as a “he-she”, and other cruel terms disregarding her identity. Or her story of how her dad beat her when he found out. The way the assholes wouldn’t accept the truth, like assholes never do.

He knew that it was only fuckhead morons like Santos that questioned whether, as a dude, you were still 100% straight if you dug on a trans chick. But he questioned it anyway: He was pretty sure he was not 100% straight anymore, if he ever was. Maybe Carla had nothing to do with it, but the way he could still vividly imagine what Tyrell’s mouth felt like – that sure did.

When he let himself go down this rabbit-hole of musing (or when he did it anyway despite his best efforts to stop), of course Elliot thought about Shayla. He couldn’t help it. She was probably the only real girlfriend he’d ever had. It made the grief well up in his heart, thick and painful. He could not bring himself to re-imagine the sex they had had. 

He turned onto his other side in his cot. Lights out was hours ago but he was unable to sleep, one of the situations where he ended up mentally running around in circles about stuff like this. He tried to remember his other sexual experiences before Shayla. He couldn’t come up with any details. Another gray blurry area in his past. _Shit._

He thought about Angela, whom he’d always loved. He’d always thought she was beautiful. She’d been there for him as long as he could remember. He was practically programmed to love Angela. _(Were there bugs in the code?)_

He didn’t really love anyone else like that. But did that love have anything to do with whether or not he liked women? What kind of love was it? It felt shameful to think about Angela in that way, but he tried – _all in the name of science, right? All just trying to find answers,_ he told himself. He brought her face, her body in front of his mind’s eye, thought about her hands on his waist, thought about kissing her. His mind naturally called up the last kissing he’d experienced, the sensations of Tyrell’s lips and tongue. _No – Angela,_ he told himself, trying to bring it back. Imagined her stripping naked, what her breasts would look like free of her bra. 

Was this nice? Was this what he wanted? His breath was fast, but he was full of confusion, his stomach knotting up. How could he trust himself, when he had confusedly macked on his own sister?

He thought of him and Angela both naked, together, on his bed in his apartment. Touching her thighs. Her hand on his dick. What it would feel like, entering Angela. (God, it seemed wrong.) But then he pictured her face tilting back and her mouth opening in pleasure, and yes, he was hard.

_Angela, I’m sorry,_ he said to her silently, feeling like he was betraying her somehow. 

But he kept it going to see what would happen. Kissing her as he thrust into her. Once again, the mouth he felt in his mind was not hers. A scent memory blasted him inside his skull out of nowhere; a man’s cologne and sweat. He tried to imagine touching Angela’s breasts, and the mental image he was constructing morphed into smooth pectorals with tight pink nipples. Where did that come from - he hadn’t even seen Tyrell with his shirt off. Had he? He was harder now, and even more confused.

Elliot opened his eyes and sighed. Another aborted experiment, another pointless reverie to discover exactly nothing and just make him feel bad. Sounded familiar.

He rolled back onto his back and turned his thoughts to the most recent time Carla had smiled at him. He collected her smiles like racking up points in an old-school arcade game. 

He just wanted to protect her. And hold her close. He thought about kissing her face, touching her hair. His mental scenarios involving Carla always got a little stopped up beyond making out, since he wasn’t sure what parts she had, and he quickly got embarrassed at his own ignorance.

This time, thinking about kissing her led him to dwell on how it was difficult for her to get makeup in here, and how it’d be nice if he could get her some. Maybe through Leon. He imagined uncapping a lipstick and putting it on her lips for her – he’d done that with Angela when they were kids, concentrating on coloring inside the lines, trying not to breathe too hard on her face so close to his. Carla would probably never let him do that. He could picture her laughing at him if he ever asked. Or worse, just writing him off as a pervy creep, like what she first thought of him when she caught him following her. _(Not that she was so far off.)_

So he switched it around to Carla putting lipstick on him. And maybe something on his eyes, drawing on his eyelids with pencils and brushes. How nice it would feel to have her attentions on his face, to show her how much he trusted her.

Elliot was too tired to question why these imaginings were soothing to him, but under their captivating power, he finally was able to drift off into sleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was informed by Red Wheelbarrow, obvs (he is *so* obsessed with Carla, I am not making that up)
> 
> I've got another chapter in the works: Angela POV, also shaping up to be a lot of thinking/reminiscing and not a lot of plot, but that's what I've got for now...


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> An evening with Angela's troubled thoughts 
> 
> (set during season 2)

Everything had transformed for Angela, all at once. Her whole life had been upended. She was a new person. Emerging like a moth from a shell. She felt shaky and weak, not yet formed.

Her former employer, AllSafe, no longer even existed. Gideon’s death made her feel sick each time she thought about it; she felt the responsibility for it was at least partly hers to carry. 

She had thrown everything she was into the lawsuit, and was surprised how quickly she was shut out of it – at least in the ways she originally hoped to help out. Moving in with her dad in New Jersey temporarily had made her feel like even the city had thrown her out, like a speck of foreign material. At least she was finally rid of Ollie: Not all the transformations in her life were negative.

Working at E-Corp was another positive. She liked it more than she had expected. She got a thrill out of wielding her power. Power was something she and Elliot had talked about in the abstract for years, but it was coming to fruition now in ways she hadn’t counted on. She was living and breathing that power now. She was calling the shots. Telling people who didn’t like her decisions, in so many words, where they could shove it.

It gave her so much of a rush to do that. Felt as good as that pill Shayla had given her. But also, it was hard. It took so much fucking confidence to pull off that act, to really occupy those Prada shoes. That’s why she practiced. Every day, reciting her affirmations, to help her really believe in her power. To make her new self real.

But she still didn’t feel powerful enough to do the bold, incredibly risky thing Darlene had asked of her.

So many ghosts haunted her, in the lulls when she wasn’t practicing wielding power. In quiet moments eating her lunch alone. At night when she tried to sleep. 

Shayla was one of the ghosts. She kept remembering their night of debauchery, their hookup, achingly vivid in Angela’s mind even though she was wicked high at the time. She had been so drawn to the woman that had been with Elliot, like infatuation through proxy. How badly she wanted to kiss the lips he had kissed, touch the body he had touched. As if she could caress Elliot’s skin through Shayla’s somehow. She had no qualms at all about getting it on with a woman, the ecstasy making her lovey and loose. In fact, she had thrummed with a sort of resonance with Elliot: his first woman _(sort of, maybe)_ , her first woman _(more or less)_ , one and the same. In a way, she’d felt closer to Elliot than she ever had before. Touching and being touched by Shayla, she’d felt more aroused than she had been in her life. 

Sitting at the kitchen table in the decked-out E-Corp flat she lived in now, headphones on, losing concentration on a work thing she’d been picking away at on her laptop, the memories returned to her, and she sighed with pain. How Elliot suffered when Shayla died. It was such a shock to her at first to learn it, until she thought a little bit, put together the scraps of information Elliot had deigned to give her, the stuff Shayla herself had told her. She knew Shayla sold drugs, although she’d just given that up the night they went out. Obviously that profession always came with some danger. But Angela knew it was more than that. The more she thought about it, the more she knew in her gut that Elliot had had something to do with it. He had intervened in some way. His fucking inability to leave well enough alone, always clawing toward some idea of justice that was sometimes righteous but often misguided. Added to that, the stupid streak of chivalry his new personality seemed to have. It was obvious. Elliot had messed with someone who was hurting Shayla somehow, and that person got retribution. 

Then why did Angela blame herself? _Because I should have seen it coming._ She should have put all that together before it happened. Stopped him from doing whatever he did. She should have broken them up somehow. What if she’d just given in to her evil thoughts and grabbed him and kissed him at Gideon’s dinner party? In front of Shayla, in front of Ollie: kill two birds with one stone. No. It wouldn’t have worked. Shayla was so easy-going, so clearly willing to put up with endless amounts of Elliot’s bullshit. She would have forgiven him, taken him back.

But something. If she’d warned Shayla. _Hey. I know my friend. Being around him is not going to be any good for you in the long run. I recommend…_. No, Shayla was no dummy, she’d’ve sniffed out Angela’s thing for Elliot in an instant, chalked it up to jealousy, taken Angela's warning with a grain of salt.

In fact, she probably had already sniffed out Angela’s thing for Elliot. Maybe that was even what inspired her to hook up with Angela?

Was there anything Angela could have done? She ran through all the possibilities again. This wasn’t the first time she had tortured herself this way, brainstorming ways she could have helped, ways she had failed.

No. No. Don’t think that way. _I am powerful._ Say it out loud. “I am powerful,” Angela whispered to herself, avoiding using her voice in case it quavered. “I am important. I am successful.”

Yeah, right. And Elliot was in prison. Slowly, she took out her headphones, dropped her head into her hands.

Elliot - her Elliot – he was her responsibility. From back when she helped him research dissociation, helped him split himself in two. It was agreed. This one would be hers, the other one, Tyrell’s. She was supposed to guide him. She had fucked up so royally. What would the original Elliot have thought of her? Letting him get himself into prison? She knew Stage 2 was being hampered; she knew even Elliot’s access to computers was limited. Time was running out; she knew they might all fail, and she could have stopped it, if she had only managed to keep him from entering that guilty plea.

Not only had she failed the mission, though, she had failed her friend. The new personality was her responsibility by mutual agreement. But Elliot had always been her responsibility by her own pact with herself. She had sworn in her head to always look out for him. She thought about her Elliot in that environment, with how his mental state had been lately. How was he coping?

Darlene had been so worried when he broke down. It pained Angela, but she couldn’t even let Darlene in on why Elliot was this way, how he’d split himself apart on purpose. Even Angela hadn’t known exactly how the second personality would appear to Elliot. None of them had anticipated he would talk to Elliot-prime in the guise of his dead father. It made a sick kind of sense : He was the guide, the protector. The one who always taught Elliot the system was to be fought, rules were made to be broken. The one who ushered in the genius of the next generation... How it had impacted Elliot to interact with his dead father, though - it made her worry more. Elliot was such a mess that day they found him in the cemetery. More recently, it looked like he was grinding his gears, battling the other half of him uselessly. The whole psychological aspect of the plan was going off the rails, she thought. Her fears about Elliot’s mind-hack coming true. That unraveling Elliot was in prison now, warring with himself. God, she feared for him, ached for him.

He wouldn’t let her visit him , wouldn’t even answer his letters. She had some ideas why that might be. She knew he wouldn’t want her to see him like that, in a prison jumpsuit. He wouldn’t want her to see him weak. He was trying to do something on his own, and he didn’t want her help or pity – something Angela herself could relate to. But still, it hurt so bad.

When she thought she was going to cry, when the self-berating voices started up again, her new Prada-wearing, E-Corp exec self fluttered up to speak sharply to her. _Listen. You’re not helpless. You’ve got to make it up to him. You can help fix it._

How?

She thought again about what Darlene asked her to do. Needed her to do. 

She could take the risk, walk into the FBI floor of her building. She knew how to play innocent if stopped, if questioned. It was incredibly scary, but she had mastered such incredible fears before, so many times.

_I am powerful._

_But I’m not a hacker… How am I supposed to accomplish that part?_

Darlene said they would train her. She knew she was smart, she could learn new things quick. No, she couldn’t become Elliot in a day. But just this one thing.

_I can accomplish what I set out to accomplish._

She needed to move forward, to face fear, to emerge fully and spread her moth wings and let them dry, let them grow. She would do this test flight.

She would do it for Elliot’s vision. She would do it for Elliot.


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot's in prison. Tyrell is a fugitive. They really should not be speaking to one another. But Mr. Robot insists...

For months, too little communication with Elliot (Robot) when Tyrell had desperately needed it. And now, he was trying to contact him just at the time that he desperately needed him not to.

Tyrell was a fugitive now, considered by his former colleagues, the press, and the FBI to be the mastermind behind the E Corp hack, which the press had named five-nine. It was essential for Stage 2 that he stay in hiding, that he and Elliot have no contact. This, he understood.

But he was receiving messages through nameless contacts. Men he had never met before, but who would use the series of passwords to prove that they came through a pipeline of people with Elliot on the other end. Scraps of paper containing code, left in the mailboxes of apartment buildings Tyrell would be directed to. 

Tyrell struggled with himself. The safest thing to do right now would seem to be to ignore these messages. (Was Robot testing him?) But two things compelled him to act. One was that he was duty-bound to follow any and all orders from his designated side of Elliot, this self-named Mr. Robot. 

The other, of course, was his overwhelming craving to talk to Elliot again, either one of them.

So Tyrell obtained a phone that he would discard after using this once, modified it to make it less traceable, and made the call. 

The connection quality was shit, the call having been directed through a couple of places to throw off any traceability, before landing at the prison hallway phone that Robot had indicated he would be next to at the designated time. Nonetheless, Robot’s voice came crackly and quiet from the other line, and a piece of Tyrell melted in pleasure just at hearing it.

“What is this about,” Tyrell demanded, trying to keep things all business. He knew they had very little time. He was stiff with tension over what could possibly have driven Robot to take such risks to get in touch by phone.

A sigh came from the other line, distant and breaking up on the high-frequency sound. “He keeps asking about you. He won’t let up. Persistent goddamned idiot.”

 _He._ Tyrell realized Robot meant the other Elliot. Tyrell’s heart was in his throat. “About me? What does he know?” He must know that Tyrell was the fall guy, was a wanted man. Was Elliot … Worried about him? That still far from warranted this call.

“He thinks he – we - killed you,” came the reply, with a dry laugh. “That I shot you.”

Tyrell thought about that day in the arcade, Elliot/Robot’s hands guiding his arms on the gun. Holding the barrel of the gun to his own abdomen; explaining the circumstances in which Tyrell may have to shoot Elliot. Then, of course, fucking his brains out.

“That you---! It was almost the other way around,” Tyrell murmured, incredulous.

“Yeah, yeah, I know. Anyway, he needs to hear you, just say one thing to him so he knows it’s you. He’s just gotta know you’re still alive. That’s all.”

“But – Elliot,” Tyrell still does not know what to call his Elliot, the fragment he works with. He can’t bring himself to use the strange moniker this fragment used in the arcade, at least not out loud. “Elliot, how can that be important now? Why would you take this risk?”

Robot’s voice hardened. “Because the stubborn fuck is threatening to blow the whole thing open if I don’t give in.”

Tyrell’s burst of adrenaline made his hands shake, made his pulse rush in his ears. Largely because of the disaster threatened by Elliot-prime. Who had spiraled so far outside of all of their control, who could wreck everything in an eye-blink, a finger-twitch. Tyrell felt as though he were staring over the edge of a precipice.

A smaller reason for the adrenaline spoke up softly: Elliot-prime was threatening all of them, all the work they had done, for the sake of knowing Tyrell was safe. Even that other Elliot, the one who did not know him, who had feared him at first – even that Elliot was connected to Tyrell by unbreakable threads of need. 

Tyrell swallowed. “Okay,” he said. “…Are you going to… Switch somehow?”

“I’m going to get him on the line,” Robot said to him. “Just hold on.”

There was silence for several moments, as Tyrell’s mind raced, imagining what was happening to Elliot’s body as Robot relinquished control and the other personality woke up again. Tyrell heard the changes in his breath. It went from soft and slow to fast and loud.

At last, a tense voice broke. “Hello?” The other Elliot, the one Tyrell originally wasn’t supposed to even speak with. Tyrell couldn’t help grinning as he held the phone pressed to his face. This Elliot, who had been so shy of Tyrell - but whom Tyrell had still won over, who still wanted Tyrell. Whom Tyrell had made come with his mouth. Elliot had power over them all, over the world, but he was desperate to know that Tyrell was alive. It thrilled Tyrell to his core.

“Bon soir, Elliot,” Tyrell intoned. He waited another moment, listened to his lover’s breathing speed up more, and then hung up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK, an end is in sight! I have designated this to be 12 chapters! (At least until Season 3...)


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Elliot traces the phone calls to Joanna mostly to try to find Tyrell. Angela meets him on the train to try to give him a final warning. (Basically, S.2 ep.10 events, with more of their internal thoughts.)

Tracing the calls for Joanna Wellick was a cake walk, really; nothing Elliot hadn’t done many times before. He finally agreed to do it more out of curiosity than anything else. Curiosity about Tyrell, in particular. _Curiosity_ \-- who was he fooling. Curiosity, as in: desperation to know whether Tyrell was still alive. 

Yes, Elliot seemed to have heard Tyrell’s voice speaking a single phrase over a prison payphone. But he had woken up – come back to his own consciousness – just a moment before. Standing at that phone, with it pressed to his ear. When he heard those words, he’d been floating in a liminal space between himself and _Him,_ the other. That other was capable of making Elliot think he was being abducted and force-fed wet cement. That other could construct an elaborate, twisted vision of a family sitcom to spare Elliot from experiencing a beat-down. The kindest thing that the antagonist inside his skull had ever done for him, the act that finally united them. ( _Yeah, yeah,_ Elliot thought at his other imaginary friend, his confidant; _I know what Stockholm Syndrome is. I just don’t care. Sometimes the unhinged illusion of your dead dad is the best that you’ve got._ )

Even if Elliot was done fighting Him, though, Elliot knew his own mind could not be trusted; that his reality was a patchwork of delusion. Thanks maybe to Him. Maybe just to his own special brand of crazy. There was no trusting the veracity of that _“Bonsoir, Elliot”_ he thinks he heard. It could mean anything. It could mean nothing.

So he did the work, under the watchful eye of Joanna’s hired hand. He wasn’t really afraid what Joanna and her employee would do to him. They were nothing like Vera’s brother, nothing like Ray and his men. If anything, they almost seemed like old friends. The hired muscle chit-chatted with him while he worked in a relaxed way, as if they’d spoken many times before. Elliot could not shake the feeling that Joanna knew him, too. She was too familiar with him. Smirking each time she used the name “Ollie” he’d given her, emphasizing the sounds of the word as if it was the punchline of a joke. His impression of her movements and body heat when she leaned in to whisper in his ear triggered that weird sense of déjà vu, just like when he was in Tyrell’s embrace. 

His body knew hers. This had to be _Him,_ again. Mr. Robot. Sneaking around with both Joanna and Tyrell while Elliot’s mind wasn’t present. 

_Maybe they both are mine._ The words came to him unbidden, and he snorted at the strange thought.

He finished tracking the phone the calls were coming from, showed Joanna’s employee, who expressed muted surprise. He said that it could not possibly be Tyrell at that location. Elliot bit down on a wave of disappointment and fear. The employee indicated that Joanna would not be pleased.

But that was not Elliot’s problem right now. He’d done as they’d asked; now he had to turn to the increasingly urgent messages he’d been getting from Angela.

\---

At last he was there on the train with her. Angela’s heart caught in her throat to see him, finally, after his months in prison. Her animal emotions responded with happy familiarity: her best friend was in front of her, whose every thought and idea and emotion used to be visible and exchanged with her. She knew, though, that this was her best friend’s body with a transformed mind. A crumbling mind. She knew him; she didn’t know him. She couldn’t really trust him, but had to. She had to try to save whatever was left of him.

This was it, this was her only chance to warn him. Angela felt like they were trading places in one subway trip. The train that was bringing him out of prison, bringing her in. 

She explained to Elliot what she was doing, that she had no choice but to confess about the femtocell. Which she’d only planted because he’d been in prison, but that didn’t matter now. The FBI agent who’d come to her place made it plain: Angela was backed into a corner. 

Elliot still seemed under the impression that he was in control of everything. He started to say he could fix it all. There was no time for that. He was wrong.

If there was only some way to get across to him what was happening to his own mind. The fact that he had planned it. If she could get in touch with any trace of the original Elliot, maybe he could do something about it - could patch the bugs, fix the partitioning (was that something he had called it once, another misguided computer metaphor for his own brain?). 

She thought about his past experiences with dissociation, the ones that gave him the idea to induce this in himself in the first place. He’d known he was prone to it. He thought he could control it, do it his own way. Like he always thought about everything. Maybe the transformed Elliot sitting across from her on the train had some memory, however obscured, of some of those experiences. Angela knew it was unlikely, but it was worth a try.

Which experience should she try to remind him of, out of the many? Immediately she thought of the museum. The way he’d run away there, just like her favorite childhood book character. If only they could be children again, escaping to the museum. Sneaking out to the zoo at night, Elliot’s surprise for her, so she could see the reptile house. Angela would give anything to be fourteen years old again, with Elliot, the first Elliot, looking at snakes in an aquarium in the middle of the night.

“Do you remember when I found you at the Queens museum?” she began. “You were pacing, and screaming at the staff because they couldn’t see whoever you were seeing. Was it your dad then, too, or was it someone else?”

He said he didn’t remember. Of course he didn’t remember. That memory could be partitioned off into the other personality. Or gone altogether.

She tried one more time to warn him, to explain about his other self. “Whatever he is, you can’t work with him,” she told him. “Don’t trick yourself into thinking that.” If she could just get him to let go of the plan. Give up, and run. Save yourself.

It was all she could do. They needed to part ways now.

The resignation laid heavily in her gut that she might never see him again. Her dear friend. There was no helping it. 

As if he read her mind, something came over Elliot’s face, and he leaned forward awkwardly and laid his lips on hers, so gently but with such conviction, Angela thought her heart would shatter. Fractured Elliot, who had tried to kiss his sister, who saw visions of his dead dad – did he even know what he wanted? Did he even know who he was?

But she couldn’t help herself, her whole body pulsed with pleasure. Belatedly, she took his face in her hands, savoring the feel of him, and kissed him back, holding back years of wanting pounding on the inside of her skull to just kiss tenderness into him, desire she never expected to fulfill.

They broke apart slowly, but not slow enough. Her hands trailed down his chest as they looked at each other. Whoever was behind those eyes, it hardly mattered. Any and all of his fragments. She’d love him – them - always.

He hung on to her hand for an extra moment when he turned to leave. Angela fought back tears as she watched him through the window, walking away in the station until he was out of sight. She tried to remember one of her mantras, to stay strong, but she couldn’t find the words.

And suddenly they were in front of her. A man, a woman; no uniforms, but Angela knew. This was the end. She was ready to go.


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Post-season 2 finale.

It didn’t matter if it was real.

The hospital bed. The tubes, the soft beeps of medical equipment. The pain with each breath. Elliot knew that the _other-him_ could do this - could conjure any kind of experience.

He had found a sort of peace with his other half. They had helped one another. But that didn’t mean he could trust _Him_. The vision of his dad. Mr. Robot. They had found themselves at cross-purposes again, and so Elliot had been shot. In reality or in his head, what did it matter? Pain was pain. The nervous system made that happen. Whether from a physical bullet or from your other personality willing it on you, it was the same circuitry.

If it had been _Him -_ if it wasn’t real - _He_ hadn’t really wanted to do that to Elliot. Elliot believed that. Which is why there had been tears in Tyrell’s eyes. Or in the eyes of the vision of Tyrell.

Elliot took another shallow breath and clung to that.

\--

He lapsed and returned. He drifted in a half-state. Voices spoke in a language he didn’t know. Chinese? But he understood some of it. Or thought he did.

He heard himself moaning weakly. A needle of something inserted into his IV site, and he was back in his apartment, feeling the rush of snorting morphine dust. Shayla was there, smiling brightly at him. Many evil deeds were undone.

He was in the arcade again. Angela floated in front of him, wearing the wedding dress. She was so beautiful.

He said her name, or thought he did, and reached out to her. She opened her mouth and spoke to him in Swedish, in a man’s voice, which both soothed and unsettled him.

“Angela,” he whispered, and he felt his lips moving this time, which meant they hadn’t moved the other time. “Shhh, later, pet,” the voice murmured, coming from the unmoving visage of his best friend, all in white. She glowed as she bent down to kiss him. He closed his eyes. Or were they already closed? The touch of her lips flowed into him like another hit of morphine. Elliot wanted to kiss back, to apologize to her, to ask her why she was here, but he couldn’t move. He couldn’t move as strong hands caressed his arms, his chest through the hospital gown.

A hand grasped firmly between his legs. That broke the lock on his body, made him start, but the beginning of muscle contraction in his abdomen sent a wave of pain through him, and he froze and gasped into the mouth on his mouth. The hand moved. He wanted this. Did he want this?

The mouth left his. The hand kept moving. A voice spoke: _I love you._ Elliot did not know what language it was.

He remembered Tyrell’s face, a face that instantly bloomed bright on the inside of his eyelids when he thought of it. Tyrell’s voice, calling him _my genius_. The hand stroked up, and a thrill went through him, a fleeting sense of a time before, when he was the genius, when Tyrell was his disciple. His _fuckboy_. It hurt to breathe fast and hard, but he breathed fast and hard anyway, riding the high of the need Tyrell had for him. His head swam.

Rustling of sheets, his hospital gown being shucked upwards, sliding against a bandaged area that responded with dull pain. The hand moving directly on his skin, now. He fought to not contract his muscles; even tilting his head back hurt. Then, the wetness and slide of a mouth. Blending with the morphine high, and the high of taking down the world, using Tyrell as a tool. A trinity of pleasure overlaying the pain.

It all halted with noises: a door, fast footsteps, angry voices. The mouth was gone, and he was hungry and cold. Angela, but in a gray suit, not a white dress. Sharp words between her and Tyrell. Two keys dangled in front of Elliot’s vision, clinking together. They both were needed. He felt security in their presences. But his high was fading, and he began to panic.

Clicking steps of men’s dress shoes leaving the room, a door slamming. Elliot could not go through withdrawal again. Not with his wound, with these tubes in his nose and arm. He drew in a shaky breath, as cloth moved back over his body. “Please,” he begged.

“I’m here,” came Angela’s voice, trying to sound soothing around her own fear. A soft hand on his arm. Such a different hand. This key, that key. Rallying for one movement, Elliot grasped her by the wrist and moved her hand to where he needed it. Angela sucked in breath and tried to pull away. “Elliot-“

“Please,” he repeated.

“You’ve lost so much blood.” Her voice was small. But her hand stayed. It moved. “You’re too weak.” His lips closed and opened. He nodded, eyes squeezed shut, willing the high back into his head.

He felt her watching him, heard her breath, and he sensed her own need. _Share in this high with me._ She should. It was what was right. She had earned their victories with them, alongside Elliot and Tyrell. She must have known it, must have felt it, too, because her hand moved under the layers of cloth. Her thumb sliding up his cock, fingers wrapped tight. He heard her move, felt her weight pressing onto the bed with him, and he opened his eyes. She was over him, straddling his body, her hair falling around his face as she lowered down, took his mouth in hers. He found the will to move, slowly and weakly, but still able to give back. Her hand pulled pleasure back into him as their tongues moved together.

She lifted up, panting, and he didn’t open his eyes until he felt a drop of wet hit his forehead. There were tears on her face. She smiled at him when she saw that he saw her. “I’m okay,” she whispered. “But you. You’re so hurt. I don’t know if I should.”

“Yes,” he said, hoarse.

She was wearing the wedding dress again. Kissing him, or maybe it was Tyrell kissing him. Hands touching him, different hands. A man and a woman; both belonged to him. Tyrell’s Elliot and Angela’s Elliot, in harmony. Changing the world. Why had he tried to stop it? He’d been fragmented. He couldn’t be blamed. He knew better now. Tyrell couldn’t be blamed for-

“You shot me,” he choked, between the kisses.

The face above him frowned. “Who are you talking to?”

He got lost in the pleasure again. He said her name. Or Tyrell’s name? Who was it touching him? Angela’s voice expressed worry again, but he reassured her. “I’m okay. Please, Angela.” _Let it happen. Give it to me. Let Tyrell do this._

The hand sped up, firm grip, thumb circling his head, and he spasmed finally, pain shooting into his stomach that he didn’t care about. He needed the hit more than he needed to not be in pain. He gasped and shook as she stroked the rest of his orgasm out of him. He could relax then, let the dregs of the morphine rush wash over him. His eyes were half-open, and he didn’t move to open them more or close them as the body moved off the bed. A warm cloth cleaned up his stomach, cotton fabric was arranged back over him, but he only saw glittering keys in front of a backdrop of fire. He was too weak to reach out and touch them.

Angela’s soft hand stroked his cheek. He thought he heard _I love you_ again, or he made the words in his head, but they were English this time, which meant they weren’t last time. Angela’s lips touched him gently above his eyebrow, and maybe he made that happen, too. His mind, after all, could conjure any reality for him.

Elliot drifted out further, away from even this hazy consciousness. He didn’t know where he would be, who he would be when he came back. It hardly mattered. He paid it no mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ALRIGHT THAT IS WHAT I’VE GOT! Hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Season 3, season 3, season 3, omg can you even wait for season 3.
> 
> My other big fandom is Marvel, esp. Daredevil. I know for a fact Disney/Marvel will never satisfy us with an onscreen queer kiss; would never dare horrify all the fanboys. We must use our fanfic and use it well.
> 
> But Sam Esmail. He has his story, and he don’t give a shit. He’s going to give it to us. Fanboys be damned. I trust in him. Just you wait.


End file.
